In Your Dreams
by Becisvolatile
Summary: When Loki finds Darcy standing at the foot of his bed, he's sure he is dreaming...


It had been decades since the mere thought of a milky skinned maiden could stiffen Loki's cock, much less in sleep.

But if he was truthful (and he so rarely was) it was no great marvel that his sleeping, unguarded, mind and body would call upon and prime themselves for visions of Lady Jane's cohort, the dark haired harridan with a waspish tongue and a bite to match. Even in sleep his thigh twitched at the memory of the liberal application of her 'taser', a mere trinket (and one he would not be so foolish as to venture near in the future). It was nature's way, he supposed, of matching such singular beauty with such an unpalatable personality. A woman with a mind - and by Odin's eye did she voice it. Loki doubted that a single thought flittered through her expansive and wild mind without escaping past her lips.

But that night? That night she did not speak and _that_ was how Loki knew he only dreamed her presence in his chamber. For weeks now he had remained at SHIELD's beck and call as a 'consultant', no small favour given how demanding the organisation had proven to be. But it seemed that Thor required some small measure of penance from him. _Honestly, you invade_ one _city, steal _one_throne..._

It seemed the lack of stimulation was affecting him even in sleep. Still, if he was to revert to the the pleasant (if messy) dreams of his youth, he could think of no finer female form to coax his loins to life.

Sweet Darcy stood at the foot of his bed, coyly shuffling from one foot to another, his every carnal desire fashioned into flesh... And such womanly flesh as that even a God could doubt that she stood awaiting his pleasure. He frowned - for even in dream he had command of himself - and felt a moment's disquiet. It seemed wrong that she did not speak. He had grown accustomed to her enduring harassment. Since the girl had appointed herself his personal watchdog (_Y'all are crazy if you think you can trust this dude!_) he'd scarcely been without the _dulcet_ notes of her (albeit amusing) haranguing. His only moments of peace came when the good Captain America crossed their paths and stole her attention.

In truth (and, really, he had to stop being so truthful), he didn't much like those moments of silence either.

He sat up then, willing his dream Darcy to speak... He contemplated fashioning a robe out of the darkness that surrounded him, he did not wish to spook the lovely apparition with his naked and (frankly) eager form. But as he was still assuredly deep in slumber it hardly mattered. Loki was thankful that even in this dream world he retained his superhuman vision, for what would surely be nothing but the deepest of darkness for Darcy was no hindrance to his perusal of her form.

And such a lovely form it was. She had such an inviting mouth when it wasn't spewing vitriol. Darcy's hair was unbound, falling in soft waves about her shoulders. She hesitated then stepped forward until her thigh brushed against the mattress, her hands gave a slight tremor as she pressed them low against her abdomen and Loki shifted, eager to go to her, soothe her. Even in his dreams he wanted to speak gentle calming words to her, to secure this night for them both.

Darcy pressed a knee to the bed and lifted herself up. Odd, he thought, that even in sleep he felt the dip of the bed. He came up to his knees and reached forward, snagging her hand to draw her to him.

Her hand shook in his and again he frowned into the darkness, the Darcy he had come to know - _his Darcy_ - was no shy miss. She wore a loose fitting T-shirt that fell to mid-thigh, his gut heated as he discovered that Captain America stared back at him from the front of her shirt.

It was then that he realised this was no dream. Even in his most masochistic moments his subconscious would never mock him so. Having Rogers face sprawled across Darcy's breasts was a quirk that surpassed any nightmare that he could summon. He bit back a curse as he hauled her against his chest. He was nothing if not adaptable. He wasn't sure what lunacy had brought Darcy Lewis to his bed that night, but he was not one to shy away from a challenge. Or a woman so clearly in need of his attentions.

The shirt would have to go, of course. He made quick work of it, hauling it over her head, leaving her only in a delectably sheer pair of pink knickers. She arched her back slightly, her lush breasts brushed against his chest and he felt his cock jump in anticipation. He groaned low in his throat as his palms ghosted over her hips to slip into her underwear and cup her bottom. A single finger slipped over his mouth as she spoke.

"Please," she sounded so nervous, "I'll chicken out if you speak..."

Of _course_ she would seek to neutralise what little remained in his arsenal. Even at that moment she sought to thwart him! If he could not further seduce her with words, he would have to rely on his own (not inconsiderable) carnal skills.

If he could not speak, he could find another use for his mouth. Her nails scored his shoulders as his mouth dropped to lave her breasts with hot, open-mouthed kisses. Loki's mind reeled at the feel of her in his arms, his hands slipped her underwear down her thighs while she continued to grip at his shoulders and moan sweet, feminine noises of encouragement in his ear.

How he'd ever thought this to be a dream was beyond him. What was unfolding that that very moment far surpassed any dream.

Darcy's hands moved boldly down his spine, coming down to grip and knead at his arse. His hips bucked, his cock glancing against the soft bare skin between her thighs. Her breath hissed out against his neck and he could not suppress his grin. What an unexpected boon, he had not anticipated such fire and need from Darcy, but now that he felt her heat within his arms the only mystery was that he had not sought to seduce her sooner.

He kissed her then, chasing her mouth with his and conquering her sharp tongue with his own. Loki's hands moved of their own accord, touching, teasing and learning all of her secret places. Darcy broke the kiss, chest heaving as she fought to regain her breath and let her lips hover over his. Had he not been blessed (cursed) with superhuman hearing he might have missed hearing as she uttered something... a name.

Not his.

"_Steve_."

Loki's hands tensed then. His mind reeled, trying to simultaneously make sense of the name and suppress his rage. Steve. _Steve_?! Did she not realise that it was _his_ bed she had crawled into? _His_ hands that touched her so?

Of course, Fury had proven rather matronly in his sensibilities where Darcy was concerned. He'd ensured that her own lodgings were two floors above, wedged between Romanoff and Hill. The chit had likely come looking for his neighbour, Rogers, and become confused.

For a fleeting second Loki let his face reform, his cheeks lowering and spreading in a fair simulation of Rogers clean-cut handsomeness.

And yet... he felt ill at the thought of deceiving Darcy so. With a curse, he dropped the guise and summoned his bedside lamp to life. "It appears, Lady Darcy," Loki drawled as he hauled a sheet up to shield his erection, "That you are very much mistaken."

Even as she reeled back in horror, she was stunning. Her lips and breasts were pink and swollen from his attention, his fingertips had left slight marks on her hips and something deep in his chest thrilled at the sight.

It was far less arousing to watch her scramble in shame and alarm, grabbing at blankets and concealing her body from his gaze.

"And you're telling me this now?! Fucking jerk."

He held his hands wide, his face a calm mask to hide his own disappointment. "Forgive me, I assumed that you had simply succumbed to your desire for me."

She snorted, slipped from the bed and secured the blanket around her chest.

"In your dreams," she muttered as she shuffled from his room.

* * *

Darcy sulked solidly into the next evening, not even really sure _why_ she felt so hard done by, when she was the one who had made such a mess of things.

_Steve_. She had meant to crawl into Steve's bed and if some small inner voice had cautioned her that Steve couldn't possibly respond to her lame-arse seduction with such skill and passion... well, she'd been quick to ignore it.

Darcy paused in front of a door for the second night in a row, but unlike the previous night, she didn't require the lengthy pep-talk. She was positive that, finally, she had the right door.

She wasn't stealthy this time, instead she disturbed his sleep by smacking obnoxiously at the walk until light flooded his chamber. Darcy stormed in, slamming the door as she entered and shucking her pyjamas along the way. She climbed up onto the bed then, all fire and sour demeanour as she straddled Loki and roughly speared her fingers into his hair.

"Have you the right bed, Darcy?" He asked with a growing grin. Smug bastard.

"Yeah, you still aren't allowed to speak," she snapped and then, to make sure he obeyed, she pressed a hot eager kiss against his mouth.


End file.
